Poetry, the unrecognized dangers of.
Apr. 29th, 2003 02:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
You ever have that thing where your brain is just completely nonfunctional, because two completely different poems are running through it, and you can't get rid of either of them, so your head is just swimming and you feel dazed?
I've got A E Housman's "Epitaph on an Army of Mercenaries" and T S Eliot's "The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock" running through my head simultaneously. AARRGH!
I've got A E Housman's "Epitaph on an Army of Mercenaries" and T S Eliot's "The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock" running through my head simultaneously. AARRGH!
Could be worse
Date: 2003-04-29 01:17 pm (UTC)One whore. Whore for sale. She's going cheap...
could be worse
Date: 2003-04-29 02:24 pm (UTC)Two poems enter, one poem leaves...
Date: 2003-04-29 03:28 pm (UTC)I recommend the following, also by Housman. As sherbert cleanses the palate, so does it burnish the mind:
Oh, when I was in love with you,
Then I was clean and brave,
And miles around the wonder grew
How well did I behave.
And now the fancy passes by,
And nothing will remain,
And miles around they'll say that I
Am quite myself again.
P.S. If you're the same X.G. who posted the bits on skill maneuvers in GURPS, thanks. Nifty, 'twas.
Re: Two poems enter, one poem leaves...
Date: 2003-04-29 03:41 pm (UTC)It's available here, if you're curious. I'd appricate if that URL wasn't passed around too much, because this file DOES include a LOT of SJG's and the Foglio's copyrighted material, and, while passing it around to a couple of friends is probably okay, publishing it would not be. So, I interpret this as, passing the URL around to a couple people is probably okay; linking to it is probably not. Okay, I just linked to it, but this is a three-level down comment on a livejournal post, so few people will see it. I guess.
It's a legal and moral grey area.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-04-30 01:36 am (UTC)No. *blinkblink* I manage to feel dazed a lot of the time without poetical assistance.